


the pleasure of—

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Established Relationship, Hair Washing, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Coital Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: The bath water should have long since gone cold.





	the pleasure of—

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dvldegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvldegg/gifts).

> Okay so technically I guess this is fic for the tv show because I used time periods from it (without referencing, everything is off the top of my head, I wrote this on my phone) but Crowley has black hair and you CANNOT change my mind

The bath water should have long since gone cold; the bubbles should have long since dissipated; the tubs two occupants should have long since grown bored, but instead they were quite complacent to continue to soak in water that was miraculously still warm, even close to steaming.

They’d been soaking together for an indeterminate amount of time. Earlier they’d had their fun, Aziraphale edging Crowley along in the warm water, drawing him flush up against him, stroking him until he’d finally come with a gasp and a whimper. Thanks to a small miracle, the bath water was clean again, and the two stayed tangled together, Crowley with his back pressed against Aziraphale’s soft chest and belly. 

Crowley had been draped against him before, but now he was positively boneless, melted into him like a candy left too long inside a hot car. He didn’t feel so neglected, though; Aziraphale’s fingers threading through his hair made certain of that.

Crowley had grown his hair out again after the failed Armageddon. He claimed that changing ones hair was the best way to get a fresh start. Aziraphale had then pointed out that he changed his hair every decade, to which Crowley had responded with, “well, that’s just because I’m gay, angel.”

Aziraphale had thought he’d grow his hair to about the length it had been when this whole Anti-Christ business had started. And indeed, his hair had fallen to his shoulders for a while, looking far more natural than it ever had in 2007 on the account that Crowley didn’t quite bother with styling it anymore. It was very nice, Aziraphale thought, to pet, and run his hands through, and pull and tug on (Crowley was quite a fan of those last two options).

He didn’t cut it to keep it that length, though. Nor did he mar its growth with the use of miracles, not that that was much his style anyway. Crowley liked the novelty of grooming, which was why he let his facial hair grow only to shave it off.*

*Aziraphale doesn’t mind this practice much at all, especially because it means sometimes when they’re kissing he gets to feel the roughness of a hint of stubble. He would only really mind if Crowley tried to do something like he’d done in the seventeenth century (Aziraphale had been honest with him in that a beard of that sort wasn’t terribly flattering on him). Aziraphale could tolerate a mustache, like the one he’d sported in the 1970’s, if only because Crowley became an absolute devil in the sheets when Aziraphale told him he looked as though he belonged in one of those rock bands he was so fond of. 

He let his hair keep growing, and now it resembled how it had looked when Aziraphale had seen him in Mesopotamia, the dark locks framing his face, tumbling down with a slight curl to them. Aziraphale was very fond of the look; he recalled back then that Crowley would allow children to braid locks of his hair, and now he allowed Aziraphale the same privilege. 

He also allowed Aziraphale the privilege of what he was doing now, which happened to be raking his hands over his scalp, lathering shampoo into his hair with his well-manicured fingers. Crowley was unsure how long he’d been doing it, now, but frankly he didn’t care, as long as he didn’t stop.

”Would you like me to brush your hair out after this, as well?” Aziraphale asks quietly.

Crowley makes a high keening sound. “You don’t have to…”

”What if I want to?” Aziraphale asks calmly.

”Then that’s alright, then,” Crowley says in a very breathy voice.

He’s not aroused, as much as the whining and keening and moaning would imply. He’s quite sated for the evening, now simply reveling in the pleasure of being pampered. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the pleasure of— [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173207) by [AJfanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJfanfic/pseuds/AJfanfic)


End file.
